by R Corona
“It took me by surprise as well, girls. But this is what she asked me. Marcelle seemed upset, stressed, and I would dare to say she did not look to be in her right mind. Do you girls have any idea where she might have gone?”
“Probably to a friend's house.” I would imagine she needed someone to talk to if she knew that we would find that letter this afternoon. But she could have called us to let us know. What was she so afraid of?
“No, Granny's! That's where she went. I'll phone grandma's house right away,” Leev turned to walk back up the stairs but paused before taking a second step, noticing the drawing on my hand, “Do you want me to take that? I'll put it on your nightstand so that you don't forget to return it tomorrow.” After giving her the drawing she headed upstairs to call Granny. Kostas and Ette excused themselves for the night. Ette was half as sleep as Kostas carried her into the car.
Once they had taken off, I went inside to join Leev. She rested at the foot of the stairs, staring into space, gone. It was hard to watch the disappointment given off by her stance. Leev tried her best to control the pulling and tearing inside, but I knew her world was quickly crumbling, because so was mine. She interrupted me just when I was about to ask her if she had called Granny's house. “It all makes sense now.” An eerie look persisted in her eyes. “This was on your nightstand, behind some books. I was going to leave the drawing there.” Leev had gathered all the pictures Aunt Marcelle had given me of my mother. In the pile, there was a picture which Leev did not let go of. “This is Aunt Edda, this is your mom, June.” When she did not get the desired reaction from me, she dragged my arm to the kitchen table and placed the picture of my mom on the surface. Then, from the bottom of the pile, she took the drawing Ms. Baynes had given me and placed it besides the other picture. The youthful smile of my mother extended across both images. She was the other girl in the picture, next to the Gardener; Netania.
***
Aunt Marcelle had been gone through the weekend, as Kostas had informed us. On Monday morning, Leev and I braced ourselves for the confrontation argument. We had rehearsed our lines over and over, until all questions were covered. Disappointment shocked us once again. Seeing that she had not arrived, Leev and I resumed our working duties.
While at the Park, it was impossible to concentrate on anything but the haunting image of the drawing in my mind. Although the Park was closed to the public, the crew had been called in, to perform maintenance tasks. My job was to paint the outside of the office doors but I hadn’t been able to finish the first coat of paint without thinking of the House. Ms. Baynes had mentioned that the drawing was of Netania, the girl next to her was her sister. Her sister! The girl next to the Gardener was my mother. She was not Netania's sister, she couldn’t be. My mother had no sisters. At least I would have known that. The Housekeeper had made a mistake. She had heard wrong, it was the only possible explanation.
Except the other girl was my mother. As much as I wanted to deny it, my mother was in the picture, and she was in it for a reason. The Gardener could not be my mother's sister, but they had to know each other. She might have even met Ms. Baynes and the rest of the members. Perhaps they could tell me where my mother was. The Housekeeper had made sure to gloat about the powerful energy of the House and of the man who’d built it. Maybe they knew a way to reach her, if she was still alive. The way the drawing came into my life seemed strange but so was everything else surrounding me. At times, when uncontrollable situations presented themselves, it was easy to believe that events happened as they should, controlled by a powerful force, aware of order and balance. It was easy to tell myself that there was nothing I could have done for my parents in the past, but now? That same force was growing and spreading through my thoughts, inviting me to fix what had come to pass. And I thought of my parents; screaming words of pain and crying tears of anguish while I stood here, giving no use to the tools presented to me. That afternoon, while walking home, it became clear that my only duty was to understand why my parents had been taken. Then I would make it my mission to find them. Nothing more mattered, because finding them meant to find myself by discovering the life that had been hidden from me. Nature is as nature is, and my nature was mine, destined to be acknowledged by my being.
Leev met me outside my aunt's house, crouched by the porch stairs. Before I could greet her, she jumped into my arms, weeping restlessly. “Don't listen to her. I won't let you, June. Promise me, you won't do it.”
“Leev, what are you talking about?”
“She's waiting for you inside. But she's gone crazy—how can all of this be possible? Why is this happening to us?” Leev pulled away to see my face. The setting sun lit the determination in her eyes, “I'll talk to Jeff, and maybe he can come up with a plan. He can help us.” Jeff? What had Jeff to do with any of this? Why did she have to tell him about our family problems? Leev had been spending too much time with Jeff, however, Aunt Marcelle and I had yet to meet him. Since their meeting, Leev had been distracted and nervous, she seemed to be afraid all the time; not herself. Maybe at the time, I was jealous, because I felt like he was taking her away from us. “We’ll pack our things and go where no one can tell us what to do, where they can’t find us.” As much as I wanted to believe her, I knew it was impossible to leave because the answer to everything was here. Besides, there was no place where we wouldn’t be found. I stood out like a beacon.
Against her will, Leev accompanied me inside. We found Aunt Marcelle by the kitchen table. A lowered head hid the brokenness of her shattered voice. “Sit down, please.” In a breath, she gathered enough courage to look up. Aunt Marcelle’s hair was disheveled and mascara-tainted tears left tracks on her face. “We have to talk.”
I pulled out a chair and sat down. All the anger and confusion suddenly disappeared at the sight of her anguish. I tried to ease the conversation. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes. Yes, it is all my fault.”
“I know my parents were taken. I know everything.”
“No, June, you don't. You have no idea. This life we’ve been living has been a lie.” With her hands shaking, she tried to maintain her composure. It was taking all she had not to cry. Aunt Marcelle’s words of shame and guilt caressed the air. “Edda and Len ran away to find a place where they could raise you safely. When the Patrol tracked their energies, your parents decided to send you to live with me so that you wouldn’t be found.”
“Why did you let me believe that my parents had left me? All these years I’ve felt worthless. Every night you watched me cry.” All of it was absurd, why had she allowed me to destroy the image of my parents so harshly? Aunt Marcelle had taken from me the opportunity to grieve their disappearance. To mourn them now, felt hypocritical. How could I grieve for something that had happened so many years ago? My aunt had ripped the ability to feel any emotion towards my parents. But there remained a loss which shattered my heart. The image of a loving aunt was vanishing slowly, as a paper floating on water. It would rip into small pieces, dispersing, waiting until the water finally consumes it.
“After they were taken, it was my duty to ensure that Leev and you were brought up without harm. I couldn't tell you the truth, June, Edda begged me. Knowing what you know now has started the process of becoming a Carrier of energy. If you would have known before, the Patrol would have found you too. We moved from the city because here you will find the only place where you cannot be tracked. For many years my home served as a barrier for our combined energy, but yours has over-expanded and—I'm sorry,” Her head dropped before she could continue and Leev took the chance to speak.
“No mom, no. How could you have agreed to this? Tell her, tell June what will happen to her. Do you have the strength to look her in the eyes?”
“That is enough Leev! Don't you realize how hard this is for me—for all of us? I have to do what's best and if you would think like a grown up, for once, you would do the same.” Aunt Marcelle's tone became distressed and frustrated. Leev would not give her
a rest because she knew something I didn't. She felt disturbed and sickened by it. Leev's interrupting of her mother only delayed the words that were certain to come. In their struggle to find out who was right and wrong, or who was the most powerful, it seemed like I would never find out what would happen to me. The conversation, then, took a tense turn.
“The drawing, it was all a part of this, right mom? We know who's in it.”
“It wasn't. Leev, not everything is a conspiracy. The drawing was the reason I went to talk to Granny, so she would instruct me on how to handle what was to come.”
“Oh, I understand now.” She looked at her mother in disappointment and made sure to hold the glance enough to make Aunt Marcelle feel defeated.
Ignoring Leev's look and comment, Aunt Marcelle expressed her relief, “Frankly, I'm glad you figured out the meaning of the drawing because it makes things much easier, at least I would think so.”
“Easier?” It was my turn to show confusion. “How can anything be easier?” The words stung as they were spoken and I knew they hurt her.
“In the beginning, I doubted whether you should visit the House because I was sure this would happen. But no one can stop it now. To tell the truth, I’m glad you like it there. It’ll be less complicated since you two know each other.” Aunt Marcelle cleared her throat. The remaining words were hard to say. “It will be easier when you go live with her.”
The last part of the sentence perplexed Leev, as she already knew that I would be leaving Aunt Marcelle's home yet did not know the latest detail. “With her?” Neither Leev nor I knew who Aunt Marcelle was speaking of.
“June’s Aunt. Edda’s sister is the one in the drawing.” The words lingered in the air. At first, their meaning escaped me. Leev plunged on the chair next to mine. Her head was being held by one of her hands. The lack of expression worried me. She had been blindsided, both of us had been; stabbed, just when we thought we had it.
***
The Housekeeper had been right. Having doubted her, embarrassed me. Ms. Baynes was a stranger but she had yet to become a liar in my eyes. Live with her? The gardener, she was my aunt; my mother's sister. Why hadn’t anyone in our family ever spoken about Netania? Was she some sort of embarrassment to our family’s name? Perhaps they had forgotten her existence, since she was living as a prisoner. Why was my mother’s sister living in the House? The news had struck me as sweetly as a careful whisper; as a lighting ray to someone praying for death. Before the House, my life had lacked passion and desire.
The mere sight of it energized my blood. Lies and deceit were now forgiven, even welcomed, if it meant I could be closer to the House. While trying to sleep, I thought of Netania and wondered if she knew I was her niece. The night we met, her spirit gave off a feeling of longing and sorrow. The gardener’s glance was dipped in nostalgia. It was possible that I reminded her of my mother, but she had no way of knowing for sure. The permanent stay at the House had severed any ties to her family. How would I tell her? What if she didn't want to be my aunt?
Chapter Six
Days had gone by since my last visit to the House. Time away became extensive, in my mind it spread into years. Returning became a daunting journey with every step taken. After finishing a maintenance shift at the Park, I took the path home by the House. Netania’s drawing rested on my bag. Knowing that I had to give up what had been my ticket into the House, troubled me. The turmoil that came with the discovery of the drawing created a glimmer of reality in the dim fantasy world that had become mine. Destiny had sunk its claws into my life.
The existence of a new aunt had made it possible to experience the emotional deterioration of another one. Aunt Marcelle had hit a depression streak after the shock of Leev's reaction towards her secrets. But it was the realization that she had been someone's pawn all her life, which destroyed her self-worth. Aunt Marcelle had allowed others to dictate her actions, to control her, to own her life. While speaking the truth about the drawing and about my mother, Leev and I watched as Guilt, painfully, exploded through her. The person that had been feeding her instructions could no longer tie Aunt Marcelle down. Guilt set her free; it encouraged her to reveal what should not have been. We spent Sunday by her side, answering work calls and cooking her dinner. Still, with tears slithering down her face, Aunt Marcelle tried to convince us she was fine. No one was fine; we wouldn’t be for a long time. Aunt Marcelle was a strong woman; soon she would recover with the need to fix and mend the remaining relationships. Soon, however, wasn’t soon enough, I had to fix it; I wanted to.
Through the side garden there was a shortcut leading to the front door. The left side of the House had never looked so inviting. A door which opened to the garden was being governed by the wind, shifting back and forth. From behind the door, a crashing noise paralyzed me. The loud, angry grunt was enough to make me pry in. “Is everything ok?”
Frustration took over his voice. “Does it look ok?” The chef’s helper, Gilcome, was crouched on the floor. Although he was surrounded by cooking pots and utensils, it was easy to notice his tall and lean frame.
I stood behind, watching him, not knowing what to say. It looked like he could use some help but I didn’t want to intrude, although it was already too late for that. “Need a hand?” I squatted next to him and helped pick up the pots from the white, marble tiles.
“More like eight! This is never going to get done.” Gilcome held up two pans and walked towards a, sort of, storage closet to the side of the kitchen's main entrance.
“What happened?” At the dinner party I had only taken a peek at the kitchen and it had been spotless, glowing in white. Now it looked as if a storm god had cooked in it.
“June, right?” Gilcome walked out and bent to grab the last container. “This is how Mr. Zorga usually treats his kitchen; like a dirty pit.” He stretched his hands as I passed him utensils placed on top of the kitchen countertop. “The man is a food genius. One would think he’d be organized or, at least, hygiene conscious. Mr. Zorga is an inconsiderate, self-righteous–eh forget it. He isn’t that bad,” Gilcome lowered his head and moved to the sink. He begun to clean the dishes. “Forgive me; I don’t want to give you the wrong impression of him or of me–sit, grab one of those stools behind the countertop.” Gilcome suggested. “—it shows poorly on my character to speak so horribly of my mentor. In fact, he is a good man.” The dishes softly clashed underneath his hands. “This is just not what I signed up for.” Gilcome’s angry tone diminished. “I’m not being fair—this isn’t what any of us signed up for. Well, not that we actually signed up.” At the time, I pretended to follow along, not noticing his hints. It appeared that Gilcome’s cup was full; he’d had enough of Mr. Zorga and the cleaning.
A fresh face had given him the opportunity to vent. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been of much help. Resting both elbows on the counter top, I doubted whether to interrupt him or not. A shortage of encouraging expressions left no words in my mouth, so I remained quiet. The Chef's helper continued talking while his body was turned away. In the meantime, I stared at the movement his shoulders made while he washed and dried the plates. Strands of his short, dark-blond hair fell in place, just above his neck.
When Gilcome had finished setting the dishes aside, he turned to face me and a sign of relief appeared on his face; a smile. Quickly, it became a conceited smile, and I became aware of myself; of the way in which I had been observing him. So I looked away trying to hide the shame. Gilcome walked around the counter top, moving closer to me. Then he wiped both hands on his gray-plaid pants. “I am so very sorry, June.” He stretched his hand in front of me. “This is your first time in the kitchen, how inconsiderate of me. We don’t even know each other and I’ve just dropped all my problems on you. Allow me to start over.” He pleaded.
My hand stretched to meet his. “Certainly,” I giggled before his shiny sapphire eyes, noticing hints of light-grays, highlighting the clean, blue color that made his glance piercingly honest.
“
June Corpelle, I am Grant Gilcome–here to serve you. Please accept my apologies.” Gilcome's cheerful smile remained unaltered, enchanting.
“Those won’t be necessary, but thank you.” The shame should have been mine, aside from the hypnotized staring, I had barged in, disrupting his routine.
“There must be something I can do for you. Why did you come to the House today? Is there something you need, maybe I can help?” His eyes narrowed, searching my face. The reason for the visit had slipped my mind. Paralyzed by his question, I tried to remember.
“Umm…yes. Ms. Baynes—can you tell me where she is?”
“She’s in the living room. Let me take you.” Gilcome removed his apron and hung it on a hook next to the pantry.
“That’s alright. I’ve taken too much of your time already.” In the hurry to reach Ms. Baynes, a clumsy nervousness caused me to stumble on a floor vase placed beneath the counter top. The vase wobbled from left to right, about to fall into pieces against the white floor. Grant's hand was close enough to set the vase in place. He had saved me and was aware. It showed on the playful expression of his face when I thanked him in a whisper. “You want to leave that fast?” Then Gilcome called my name and his voice glued me to floor. “June...” My body was facing him, but Gilcome didn't speak. As I had done minutes ago, his eyes now studied me before reaching my glance, “Please come by soon… in case you’re hungry.”
***
Ms. Baynes stood to the side of the bamboo windows as she arranged the white curtains. The living room had been put back to normal, to its simple, clean style. “Thought that was your voice, but wasn’t sure if it was you. Nice to see you back.” Without a warning she welcomed me by squeezing my body against her chest. Somehow Ms. Baynes knew I had what she wanted, her eyes fixed on my bag. “Follow me to the front garden, there we can speak freely.” The jingling sound coming from Ms. Baynes keys acted as a guide while I indulged in the raw beauty of the House. She opened the garden door. We walked on the fresh, wet grass and reached the outdoor furniture.
