Willingly, I follow Jerome and my other guard out of the room and into the hall. The three of us scurry towards the door, guilt roiling in me to be the cause of so much strife. Before I step out the door, though, I hear a little voice call out behind me.
“Wait!” it says.
I turn to see Romulus running down the stairs, a little book in his hands. He dashes to meet me at the door. “I found this in my closet!” he says, “a long time ago!” He holds up the book to me and I can see that it’s a very small photo album. I take it from him gently and flip it open, shocked to see that it’s images of my mother’s wedding day –
And, oh my god – that I’m in them –
“That’s you, right?” Romulus says, peeking at the pages of the book, pointing at the picture of my mother.
“No,” I say softly. “That was my mom. Thank you for showing it to me, Romulus,” I say, looking down at him gratefully. I push it back towards him, as the noise escalates in the next room. I hope that some day I’ll be able to look through it more closely, but now, it definitely seems like time to go -
“No, I you can keep it,” Romulus says, smiling up at me. “And maybe, when you come back, you can bring me a present.” He gives me a big smile and I can’t stop myself from laughing.
“A fair trade,” I say and then jerk up, suddenly, at a crash I hear from the sitting room.
“You’d better go,” he says, nodding at me.
“Will you be okay?” I ask, looking over his shoulder.
“Sure,” he says, grinning at me with confidence. “This happens all the time.”
“Miss,” one of my guards says, again tugging at my arm.
“Okay,” I say, following my guard. “It was nice meeting you!” I call back to – wow, to my little brother.
“You too!” he says, waving to me as I go.
As I sit in the car on the way home, I clutch the photo album in my hands, not yet ready to open and explore it. What the hell was I going to find inside?
Kent is waiting for me as I come back into the house. “Well?” He asks, smirking at me as he leans against the wall in the entry. “That was a fast little family dinner.”
I glare at him a little, taking off my coat and handing it to the waiting housekeeper. “Why didn’t you tell me I had a step-mom?”
He laughs then, low. “I wanted you to have the pleasure of getting to know Tristin Alden all on your own. Tell me, how long did it take her to kick you out? Five minutes? Ten?”
“More like three,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself, the photo album pressed against my chest. “I indicated that I recognized the sugar bowl and she…didn’t like that. Said I was stealing her kids’ inheritance.”
Kent laughs harder at that, shaking his head a little. Then, his eyes light on the photo album. “What’s that?” he asks.
“Photos,” I say softly, unwrapping my arms and looking down at the little leather-bound book. “Of my mom’s wedding.”
“Very interesting,” he says, but thankfully he doesn’t push it. “Dinner in twenty minutes,” he calls after me as I head up the stairs. “Considering Alden didn’t feed you.”
I nod, but don’t look back at him as I climb.
When I’m alone in my room, I sit on my bed and page through the album. It’s shocking to me, how much is familiar and how much is a mystery.
I’m just a toddler in the pictures, so I guess it makes sense that I don’t remember any of it, but even at a glance I can tell how precious I was to my father on this day. He had me standing at the altar with him as he said his vows to my mother, a hand on my little shoulder as I looked out to the crowd.
Then, there’s another photo of their first dance with me crying, my arms wrapped around his leg, unwilling to let go. Both of my parents are laughing in that one, pleased, I can see, by my attachment to them – to him.
Then another, with my father feeding me a piece of wedding cake, laughing as I get icing all over my face. My heart sinks as I bear witness to the love on his face on that day, his happiness at being able to share it with the woman he loved as well as his child.
I suppose it really was a love match, then - my father and my mother. They had me first and, even though he could have just pushed her aside for someone else, he had married her, recognized me officially as his daughter.
My lips begin to tremble as I look through picture after picture of my parents’ joy, their love for me, and I feel incredible shame that I don’t remember any of it –
What must it have been like, just a few weeks ago, for my father to walk into that room to see me again – his little girl – and see that I had no idea who he was? That I had completely forgotten him?
I fall back against my pillows then, tears slipping down my cheeks. I know it’s not my fault – I was just a little kid – but I feel absolutely rotten. I must have broken his heart into a million pieces.
My door creeks open again and I see Daniel’s dark head peak in. “Fay?” he asks, hesitating. “Are you home already? Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I say, wiping at my eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asks, pressing the door closed and coming to sit next to me on the bed. I nod, sniffing and working hard to contain myself.
“Yeah, just…looking through old pictures,” I say, gesturing towards the album. Daniel picks it up and leafs through it.
“Oh wow,” he says, looking between me and the woman on the page. “Fay, she looks just like you.”
“I know,” I respond, my eyes wide. “Obviously I remember what she looks like, from when I was a kid, but…I didn’t realize I’d grown to resemble her so much.”
He nods, still leafing through. Then he looks at me. “I can see how this would be hard for you. I never, ever go through my mom’s old albums.”
I nod, reaching out a hand for his, understanding. Life can be so terribly difficult sometimes, especially when you’ve lost a parent. It’s a fine line, between wanting to remember them and missing them so horribly that all you want to do is run from the feeling.
Daniel squeezes my hand and we both sit quietly together, having our separate thoughts.
I stare at the album – closed, now, on my duvet – and wonder what changed in her life. What made her go from that day, when she was so happy, to deciding to flee with me, to leave it all behind.
And I can’t help but wonder if it will all be the same for me. I mean, I’m not in precisely the same situation – I’m not married to a man I clearly love, having borne his child – but in some ways, seeing my face in those albums, it feels like it’s her again – repeating the past.
Am I really doomed to repeat it? Will I, too, find reason to flee from this world, to try everything I can to leave it behind and build a new life in hiding? Would it eventually take me out to?
And what, really, killed her? Was it really just a car accident, or is that too much of a coincidence, for a Don’s bride to be killed so shortly after she fled?
Oh my god, was I going to die young as well?
I burst into tears again, fear and sorrow and panic flooding my body. Daniel puts his arms around my shoulders, confused, beginning to ask again what’s wrong when the door opens again.
I look up to see Kent standing there, but I can’t stop crying.
“What’s all this?” Kent asks, crossing his arms over his chest, taking in Daniel’s sad expression and my flood of tears.
I’m crying too hard to answer, but Daniel responds to him with a frown. “She’s just having a hard day, dad,” he says. “Leave her be.”
“It’s time for dinner,” Kent says, ignoring his son. “Dry your tears and come down to eat before it gets cold.”
I shake my head, sniffing again, working hard to stop crying – it’s so embarrassing to cry in front of someone like Kent, who always has it together – but I can’t. I take a deep breath and try to speak through my tears. “I’m not –“ Hic – “Hungry.” Is all I can manage.
“You are hungry,” Kent says, his voice low. “You’ve barely eaten all day!”
The tears start to come harder as he yells at me – I’m just completely overwhelmed. I watch him, watching me cry, see the anger in his face turn into something else – worry, pity, even fear.
“Stop that!” he yells, pounding a fist against the wall. I take a deep breath, working hard to do as he says – to obey. But I can’t hold it in. Despite myself, the tears continue to roll down my cheeks, my chest wracked with repressed sobs.
“Dad!” Daniel says, getting to his knees on the bed. “Will you just get out of here!? She’s having a hard time, and you yelling at her isn’t doing anything to help!”
Kent just glares at us, first Daniel, and then me, and then storms from the room, slamming the door behind him.
We both wait a minute to see if it takes, but he doesn’t come back. “Sorry about that,” Daniel murmurs, leaning back against the pillows again.
“Why –“ I say, wiping at my eyes with a corner of the bed sheet “why was he so mad?”
Daniel shakes his head, still staring at the door. “Little known fact about my dad,” he says. “He can’t stand to see people he loves cry.”
I sniff a little. “He seems okay watching you cry,” I say, tentatively.
Daniel shrugs, considering. “Just the women, then. I guess.”