Becca
My father knew of Charlotte Mayfair's sudden death and that her son-in-law, Rupert Wentworth, took temporary control of CM Enterprises in her place. It was all over the news, after all.
What the news and my father remained ignorant and uninformed about is the huge struggle for power that still has Charlotte's legacy and empire wrapped in a dark, impenetrable cloud of strife and intrigue. Nobody at the centre of that struggle wants details to become public knowledge because every party is hoping to gain the upper hand and win the final battle for control of it all.
One thing I'm eternally grateful to Charlotte for is that she'd insisted on keeping Willow out of the limelight. Willow's grooming to become the heir to CM Enterprises, along with all discussions about her upcoming betrothal to James Radley and other forged alliances, always took place in confidential board meetings behind closed doors.
The plan was to have a type of débutante ball for Willow once she graduated from high school. During this lavish affair, Charlotte was formally going to introduce Willow as her sole heir and successor and announce her engagement to James.
Until that day, she wanted to keep Willow in the shadows, away from public scrutiny, away from news reporters and other external influences and especially out of reach of any of their rivals.
Her plan worked beautifully in both Rupert's favour and our own. When he expelled us from our home, there was no media coverage or public outcry about the injustice of it all. Willow was a shadowy figure named Charlotte; nobody was quite sure who or what she was, except for the board members and business partners who were currently so busy fighting their own battles that they had little time to spare a thought for the girl many of them had fixed their future hopes on. Hopes, which were dashed by the disappearance of the last will and testament that would've solidified Willow's position as heir.
It worked in our favour because we were able to disappear unhindered into obscurity. At first, I did not expect to be able to get away so smoothly without being pursued by power-hungry people hoping to use loyalty to Charlotte and, by implication, to Willow as a weapon in their game and make my daughter their pawn. I did not want Willow to remain trapped in that viper's nest, and I never got the impression from her that she wanted to be there either. It was fear of pursuit that made me hesitate to contact my father and Beth.
At least, at first.
After the first desperate flight or fight instincts started to fade, I was left dazed with no clear idea of what to do or where to go, and I floundered. I became lost in despair; surviving and staying united with Willow and undetected by everybody who suddenly seemed like our worst enemies became an obsession.
All thoughts of seeking help from the people I loved got drowned out and locked away, becoming a very distant drone as I struggled day after day just to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies.
The attack on Willow broke me out of that stupor and made me call Beth. I called her and not my father because Beth felt closer. We'd remained in contact as much as I dared, while I had virtually no contact with my father and feared that I had lost him forever.
I now know that it was never a possibility.
Beth was beside herself when I called her, and not just because of the horror story I told her about Willow's attack. She'd seen the news and was trying to get hold of me to hear what was happening to me and Willow in the wake of all the turmoil, as there was no word on either of us to be found. She could not reach me on my phone.
I'd bought pay-as-you-go phone cards, as our previous phone numbers were tied to contracts we could no longer afford, and I also did not want to be found by people I never wanted back in our lives. I wrote down the numbers I didn't want to lose; I just never called them.
I honestly don't know why.
Shame, maybe; fear of being found, definitely. I was not thinking clearly; my brain was pickled in anxiety and fear.
My father was desperate for any news as well, but he thought that it was business as usual, that Willow's place as heir to the Mayfair throne was secure and that even though he couldn't gain any news or information on us, all was probably well. Still, there was a nagging fear at the back of his mind, and as days became weeks and finally months and not even Beth could reach us, he was starting to lose his mind with dread.
He even flew out to Mount Sovereign with Beth to see what they could learn and was told that we had left, and nobody knew where we'd gone. They tried to get the police involved, but that did not bring them any joy at all. Nobody was taking their fears seriously. CM Enterprises' lips were sealed, and all investigations into their affairs and by association Willow and my fates were discouraged. Power owns power, after all, and my father and Beth eventually had to return home.
They did not let the matter lie and were still in the process of testing every avenue they could use to find information on our whereabouts... and then I called Beth. When she called my father and told him that we were safe and on our way to Briar Cove and that we'd been through hell and would be reunited with him soon, he wanted to drive over and see us the day we arrived in Briar Cove.
Then he started to doubt his welcome. For almost two weeks, fear kept him from going to me, the same way it kept me from coming to him.
What a pair of stubborn fools we are!
Beth told me many times that we should drive over and say hello. She told him the same thing, but we both baulked at the idea, and she finally decided that the best way to treat two mules is just to let them find their own way.
Growing up, Daddy and I fought sometimes, and trying to force us to make up never worked out well. We've always loved each other and gravitated back to one another eventually. We did so again now. It just took ages and caused both of us so much unnecessary heartache.
Daddy said that Beth told him that this coming Sunday, she was going to drive up here, put him over her shoulder, dump him in her little bug and bring him to her house for lunch. She's had enough of our bullshit.
I can absolutely see her doing that and am now a little disappointed that I won't.
Alone in the house, I wander from the kitchen, down the hallway and into my old bedroom. It hasn't changed at all since I've last been here during happier days with Grayson and Willow. Gray and I always used the guest room with the double bed, and Willow stayed in my old room when she came to visit her grandparents.
Some of her toys are still here.
Unable to stand the gut-wrenching pain caused by floods of happy memories rushing into my mind unchecked, I leave my childhood bedroom and walk into the living room across the hallway instead.
Daddy said he needed to run out quickly and go chase Mable's sheep into one of his neighbour's camps, and then he'd bring my bag from the car. Apparently, they all take turns letting Mable's five sheep graze on their properties, and it is now Old Mr Turner's turn to have them visit. They rotate every few days to prevent overgrazing of anybody's land.
Once a year, during spring, there is a whole sheep shearing party, where all the neighbouring farmers come together with food and music, and those who know how to shear a sheep bring their shears along. It is one of the highlights of the year. I'm not entirely sure what Mable does with the wool. I suppose she sells it and buys herself better spying-on-your-neighbours gear. She certainly isn't the arts and crafts kind of person who would dye it and use it herself.
She is also not desperate for money. Her late husband left her set for life, and she retired to the small farm that used to be their holiday home. She's not a bad sort, Mable. She's just really nosy or really bored, but I rather like her. She is always jolly and has the best stories to tell about life in Shingle Bluff... obviously.
The Shingle Bluff farming community has always been very close-knit, taking care of each other. It's one of the things I'd loved growing up here, but the fact that people can never just mind their own business also used to drive me up the walls.
I miss it now.
I wanted to help my dad with the sheep or at least fetch my bag myself, but Daddy was being very assertive. He told me to stay put. Perhaps he is afraid that if I leave the house, I'll disappear again.
Standing in the living room, I realise that one thing in this house has drastically changed, and that change slams into my heart like a lead ball crashing into a glass wall.
The furniture in the living room and the loose rug on the wooden floor are the same as I remember. The fireplace hasn't changed either; it is still huge and inviting and, in winter, will warm almost the entire house. What has changed is the decorations on the mantel and on the wall above the fireplace.
There used to be a vase on the mantel, and Mommy would fill it with fresh flowers every other day and on the wall was a painting by some obscure landscape artist. That painting is now on another wall.
The vase is still on the mantel, but it is empty. The rest of the mantel and the wall above the fireplace have changed into a shrine. Except for the most central position on the wall, every available space is now home to a photograph of Willow. Some are professional photographs of her in formal poses. I sent my father some of these, but not all of them.
The most baffling thing of all is that many of the pictures seem to have been taken from the angle of guests at merit award functions, birthday celebrations and other milestone events over the years. My father has pictures of Willow and me from virtually every year since we went to live in Mount Sovereign, including last year.
I don't understand. Who took these pictures? How did he get these?
I take out my cell phone and turn on the video camera to make a short video of this strange discovery. I write a message to Willow and attach the video and am just hitting send when I hear my father's footsteps in the hallway, and then he is standing at the door.
He looks a little guilty when he sees me looking at the display above the fireplace and then he shrugs and walks over to join me.
"You didn't really expect me to stay out of your lives, did you?"
"I never wanted you to stay out of our lives, Daddy," I say, surprised that he would think that.
He swallows hard, his eyes becoming bright with tears again. Today, I've seen my father cry more than I've seen him cry in my entire lifetime. I hate that I, in my stupidity, am the cause of all these tears. We've been robbed of so much, and it was so unnecessary. How did I allow this to happen?
"Charlotte sent me invitations to every birthday, every merit function where Willow received an award... all of it. We had a deal that I would remain low-key. I don't think she meant that I wasn't allowed to speak to you; she just didn't want attention to be drawn to me and my connection to Willow.
"I'm just a bee farmer, after all. And I had too many opinions to her liking, and I wasn't afraid to voice them. I'm the one who decided to hide my presence from you. I didn't want to make it hard on you and Willow... and myself. I was a coward. I am sorry, Becky. I was wrong.
"I'd give anything to have a do-over and just walk in there proudly and claim you as my family and not just take sneaky pictures like a pervert."
Charlotte invited him? She must also be the one who sent him many of these photographs!
So, she had a heart after all.
"To be fair, Daddy, you staying out of sight and playing by the rules is probably what kept you on the invitation lists. I'm glad you were there. You have no idea how glad I am. Even if we didn't know it, I'm so glad you got to be there."
I turn to him and take one of his hands in mine. His hands are still warm, calloused and strong, just like I remember them.
"But you know, we do get to have a do-over. Willow and I are here now. We're not going anywhere. I promise. She is only turning 17. You could still rekindle that closeness you once had. I'm sure of it."
My father does not share my optimism. He swallows again and pushes his free hand through his unruly white hair.
"She heard me... on the day of Mommy's funeral. She heard those bloody awful things I said to you, Becky," he chokes. "When more people came into the living room, and you went to the bathroom, I suddenly saw her standing like a statue next to that display case over there." He gestures towards the large glass-shelved cupboard balanced on delicately carved legs. It contains memories from our entire lives.
"She didn't move; tears were running down her cheeks, and she was as pale as death. I wanted to go to her and apologise. Tell her that I didn't mean it, but suddenly the place was crowded, and by the time I managed to make my way to her, she was gone.
"That whole day is such an awful blur; all I can remember as clearly as if it's happened just now is that I said horrible things I did not mean, and Willow heard me, and then you left, and I didn't get a chance to tell her that I didn't mean it. To tell her that I love her..."
His voice breaks and he turns anguished blue eyes on me. "She must really hate me, and I don't blame her, Becky; I don't blame her at all. I hate myself too."
"Yes," I confirm, squeezing his hand when I'm finally able to speak again. Fresh tears are pooling in my eyes and I have to sniff hard not to drip all over myself. Honestly, at this rate, we're going to dehydrate. "She did hear you, Daddy, but she knows you were speaking from a place of terrible pain. The thing is, she agreed with you. She wanted me to leave her and come back to you and live, get married, have children, and be happy. She resented me for not doing that.
"We've decided to put all our guilt, anger, resentment and bad decisions behind us. You should do that too. I don't want anything to stand between you and me or you and Willow. I want you to forgive me as I have forgiven you. And Daddy," I add, laughing softly. "I don't think Willow has the capacity to hate. She is just like Mommy. She can only love. Please don't let your misplaced guilt and your anger at me and Charlotte get in the way of your relationship with Willow. I know she won't let it get in the way from her side."
My father sniffs too, and wipes at his eyes and sniffs some more, and then he is laughing.
"What a soggy pair we are," he finally says, wiping the new tears from my cheeks. "Your mother must be gawking at us from heaven with that confuddled look she always got on her face when we were arguing about things she didn't understand or thought useless."
I laugh, nodding my head. "I can just see her shake her head and hear her say: 'If words were wishes, I'd be the fairy godmother now because I'd be just drowning in fairy dust'."
"Except she'd now be talking about tears, not words..."
"Indeed," I grin, and then I look at my father with a confuddled frown of my own. "Actually, Daddy, that never really made sense to me. I guess I don't understand fairy dust..."
"To be honest, Becky, very little your mother ever said made sense to me," he laughs, his eyes moving to the portrait of my mother forming the centrepiece of the Willow shrine against the wall. The resemblance between the two Willows is striking. We smile up at my mom for a while and then my father drapes an arm around my shoulders and guides me towards the door leading into the hallway. "How about some coffee instead of more tears?"
"Sounds like a plan, Daddy."
"Oh!" he says, stopping me when we're about to enter the hallway. "I was going to give this to Willow at the funeral, but... well... you know..."
He crosses to the large display cabinet and opens the door to remove a pretty, sealed glass case. Each of the glass joints is sandblasted in a delicate leafy pattern. Inside the case is one of my mother's lacy beeswax candles. "This is the last one she ever made. I wanted Willow to have it. It has her name on it; I think she made it for her. I sealed it in here to keep it from deteriorating. Do you think she'll want it?"
"Oh! Yes! Definitely," I gasp, admiring the intricate design embracing the letters of my daughter's name. "It's beautiful."
And now I want to cry again.
"Will you give it to her?" my father asks, looking awkward.
"No," I say, taking a step back, refusing to take the glass case from him. When he sags with disappointment, I hastily finish my thought. "You should give it to her yourself when you see her. It should definitely come straight from you," I smile. "She's going to love it."
My father blinks at me a few times, and then he smiles too and puts the case back in its place for safekeeping.
"Yes, you're right. I need to stop being a coward now. I'll give it to my granddaughter myself."
♫
Willow
"Hey!"
Paisley left about half an hour ago, and the house has been really quiet. I'm sitting on my bed with my laptop on a small laptop table, writing my blog while Frankie keeps me company. Every few minutes, he crawls off my bed, runs out of the room and returns with another toy. The surface of my bed has gradually become a very crowded playpen.
Still, it was peaceful. The suddenly barked greeting at the door startles me, but then Hunter enters and sits on the edge of my bed. Any fright I might have felt at his sudden intrusion into my peaceful environment dissipates in the warmth of his smile.
"Are you feeling better?" he asks, his smile widening when I nod my head.
"Good! So, are you up for a little experiment?" he wants to know, capturing Frankie with one arm when the little boy crawls over my legs and tries to scale his shoulders to get to his head.
"I'm not sure," I answer honestly. Hunter's ideas can often be a bit... well... unexpected. I laugh softly, watching the two brothers watching me. They are so cute together. Hunter is now balancing most of Frankie on top of his head, and both of them are blinking at me in expectation. "It depends on the experiment, I guess."
"Well," Hunter says, helping Frankie down when the little boy decides that it is time to go fetch another toy from the toy trunk in the living room because the dinosaur, the tanker, the teddy bear, the three big plastic cars, the five building blocks and the mini xylophone are not nearly enough resources yet.
"After training, I really wanted ice cream, so I stopped at Swift's to buy one. Then I realised, that I don't know your favourite ice cream, so... I bought loads. Which one of these is your favourite?"
He picks up the paper bag I didn't even see him leave on the ground and makes me scoot my legs so that he can dump its contents on my bed.
He didn't exaggerate; he really did buy loads.
I blink at the variety, my mouth hanging open in surprise, and I feel laughter bubbling up inside me. This is so like Hunter. There's just one problem...
"Well... which one? Or do you have many favourites? You can have more than one."
I'm feeling a little bit uncomfortable now and nervously run the tip of my tongue over my lips. I'm going to look and sound like an alien again, and there's nothing I can do about it... unless I lie. I don't want to lie to Hunter.
"You don't like ice cream?" he asks, looking slightly deflated and I hastily shake my head, smiling as brightly as I can.
"I love ice cream... I just..." Oh, heck, Willow, just say it and get it over with. "I've never actually had any of these ice creams before. Well, maybe when I was little. Usually, I only got to eat ice cream in a bowl as part of some elaborate dessert at formal dinners... Well, unless I stole some from the refrigerator. There was usually at least tubs of vanilla or salted caramel available."
"Hmpf!" Hunter is looking at me as if he has lost all grasp on reality and is once again trying to determine my species. "Why am I not surprised? I'm a little sad, but I'm not surprised."
"I'm sorry..."
"Seriously, Chick, what the hell are you apologising for?" he frowns and then the grin is back. "This is going to make the experiment so much more fun."
"It is?" I make large eyes at him, really not sure what this experiment entails.
"Yes. I thought we could eat all the surplus ice creams and rate them... that sounds really boring now that I've said it out loud..." He pulls a face, thinking it over some more, and I'm giggling again. "Well, new experiment! We're gonna find your favourite, and if it's not in this group, we'll try again tomorrow with another load. I didn't buy all the ice cream they had... that would've been-"
"Nuts?"
He gives me a look and then he's laughing too.
"So, this one is Ma's favourite, and this one is Dad's favourite, this one is Dex's favourite, and this one is Paisley's favourite," he explains, picking them up one by one. "But I see she left so we can eat hers. You can take a bite from Ma's, Dex's and Dad's ice creams as well if you want; I'm sure they won't mind."
"I think I have plenty of alternatives here, thank you."
Frankie comes toddling back into the room and sees the small mountain of wrapped ice creams on my bed. He immediately, unceremoniously drops the shape-sorter toy he was carrying and excitedly tries climbing up Hunter's leg.
"And this one is Frankie's favourite," Hunter laughs, opening a small tub and handing it to the boy with a small wooden spoon.
"Fankie favite," Frankie agrees, sitting down on the carpet and happily digging into the ice cream. I can see that it is going to become messy.
"I think it's his favourite because when he gets bored, he can paint himself and the world around him using that little eating paddle," Hunter says, gazing affectionately at the little boy. "Quite the food artist, my little brother."
I agree; I've seen the little guy in action. He manages to get some ice cream onto the wooden spoon and into his mouth and gives me a triumphant smile to celebrate.
"Okay, I'll go give Ma hers and put Dad and Dex's in the freezer for them and then you and I can eat the rest and find your favourite."
"What? We're going to eat all of them? Right now?"
Hunter blinks at me as if he does not see the problem with that. He probably doesn't. I giggle again. He is so cute when he looks confused. I'm so glad he almost always looks at least a little confused.
"Alright, I suppose I could take a bite from each of them, and then you can eat the rest," I concede, and now he is not looking confused anymore; he is frowning at me, but he is still cute.
Oh, my word! What is wrong with me?! Why do I find everything he says and does so darn adorable?!
"Missy, there's no way you can discover your favourite ice cream in just one bite. It takes about three bites before you really know if it's the one for you or not, and a few bites more to be sure."
"Oh!" I say earnestly, nodding my head. He is, after all, the expert at eating... stuff. "But if I ate so many ice creams at once, won't all the flavours just start to blend together in one unidentifiable merger?"
He gives me a long, amused look, slowly nodding his head. "You have a point," he says, and then he's hit by inspiration. He picks two ice creams from the heap and holds them up for me to see. One is a chocolaty temptation covered in nuts, and the other's picture shows salted caramel oozing from a vanilla and chocolate marbled centre.
"These are my two top favourites," he says. A frown draws his brows together, and I can see that he is re-assessing his stance, but then he just shrugs, grinning at me. "Well... two of them. How about you eat half of each and see if you like either?"
"That is such a good plan," I agree.
"Then, after a few minutes, when you don't taste them anymore, we eat two more..."
"What?!"
"What?"
"Perhaps we should wait until after dinner."
Hunter narrows his eyes at me, and then he glances at Frankie, happily spoiling his appetite with the ice cream he gave him. I giggle at his perplexed face.
"Too late now," he laughs. "Okay, we'll have those two now and the others after dinner," he agrees, piling the rest of the ice creams back into the bag. "We have all night to do this," he grins, and I nod my agreement, mentally preparing myself for a night of ice cream debauchery. I am really touched by his kind gesture, weird as it is. "I'll be right back."
"Hunter," I say when he scoops up his brother and is about to leave my room with the bag in one hand and Frankie - uninterrupted in eating his ice cream - on his hip. He stops and turns to look at me. "Thank you."
♫
Molly
When I got home from school, I spent about two decades in the bathtub, trying to relax my spasming muscles. After that, I took Alien to get some fresh air and move his bowels. That didn't work out so well, and I eventually gave up and brought him back home.
I am proud to say that I spent some time studying for the exams and eventually managed to concentrate hard enough to lose track of time. I was a bit late meeting Tanner, and I looked out of our living room window to confirm that he had come and was still waiting for me, believing that he'd left when I wasn't at the steps leading to the beach on time.
I admit I felt real disappointment when I didn't see him at the top of the steps. After all those posts on the chat group, I was nervous about meeting him, but I also looked forward to spending time with him. I was about to go back to my room and study further... or, more likely, crawl into my bed and cry, when I saw him sitting on one of the benches on the grassy verge, either side of the steps.
The disappointment evaporated, replaced by joy, which once again became nervous anticipation.
I pretty much ran down here and am a bit breathless now... again. To tell the truth, the PE session during my last period of the day did me in a bit. I overdid it and am still tired. I'm really not sure that I'm up for a long walk, but I won't let Tanner know that because he might leave if there's not going to be a walk.
"Hi, sorry I'm late," I say when I reach the bench.
"You're late?" Tanner asks; he seems to be far off somewhere where I cannot reach him.
"Just a little bit."
He didn't notice that I was late, or was he hoping I wouldn't show up? I don't know how he feels about all those pictures of us being posted like that. I loved his threat at the end of it all, but still, he might be mad about it. Perhaps he regrets asking me to meet him here.
Now, I'm more than just nervous; I'm drowning in dread.
"Actually, I'm surprised that you came; I thought you might ditch me," he says, making no move to get up, so I sit beside him.
"I promised I'd come." Would he have waited if he didn't want me to show up?
"I won't blame you if you don't want to hang out with me anymore, Moll. I'm really sorry about those pic-"
"I'm so sorry you got dragged into that," I interrupt, setting the record straight. So, that's what he's thinking? "One moment, they were my childhood friends and the next, they're hell-bent on destroying me, and I don't know why. I'm really sorry they used you like that, Tan."
Tanner is looking at me as if he's never seen me before.
"What?"
"Those posts, they weren't about you. They were meant to humiliate me."
"You know who posted that?"
"Yes, I'm pretty sure and you could've been anybody."
I think he also knows who posted that first set of pictures. They disappeared, along with the nasty message that went with them. The sweet images of him taking care of me are still there, as are the posts from all his friends.
Tanner offers me a listless smile and brushes his fingers through his dishevelled hair.
"No, Molly. I give girls a bad rep just by being in their presence. I know that, but I still... I couldn't have been just anybody. You said so yourself, I'm ruining your reputation. I wasn't sure what you meant, but you're right, and I'm sorry."
He is not completely wrong, but I'm starting to see how unfair it all is. He doesn't deserve that.
"No! You're not ruining my reputation," I say, shaking my head, pushing on when he narrows his eyes, looking ready to argue. "Only in the minds of people who don't know you and don't plan on getting to know you. Their opinions don't matter anyway. I'm sorry; I was wrong to say that. Besides, Melissa, Stephanie, Noelle and the others would just love to be in your presence, bad rep or not. They're jealous that you choose to hang out with me for some weird reason, I don't quite understand either."
His lashes are so long and thick that when he lowers his eyelids a little, I cannot see his irises clearly through them. He licks his lips, and then he opens his eyes wide and looks straight into mine and I can suddenly see them very clearly. They are like streaked charcoal, polished to a shine; I can see myself reflected in them. My heart is starting to do weird things again, galloping wildly in my chest.
"I like you," he states flatly. "I hang out with you because I like you."
After a long, breathless moment, he gives a half-laugh and sighs, pushing his hand through his hair again.
"Do you mind? Just for a second... I just... really need to... just for a second..."
I'm not sure what he means, but he doesn't seem like himself this afternoon; he is pale and his eyes are not quite focusing anymore now. Is he ill? I'm startled when he scoots a bit further away from me and suddenly lies down on his side with his knees drawn up and his head in my lap.
"Shit! Sorry!" he says, starting to rise. "I'm not thinking straight! I don't wanna make things worse for you. Sorry, Moll..."
"Shhhhht," I hiss, pushing him down again, keeping my hand on his shoulder to stop him from rising. "If it's not posts about us, it will be something else they hit me with. I really don't care anymore, and you clearly don't feel well. Go ahead, have your seconds."
I can feel him relaxing, draping the arm he's not lying on over my knees.
"Thanks... just for a second..."
A second passes and then another, until many seconds have come and gone while I pat his shoulder and stroke his hair and soon, I realise that Tanner has fallen asleep.
"Right, this is not weird at all," I mutter and struggle to take my phone from the pocket of my sweatpants. I am trying to be careful not to disturb him, but I'm not having much success in that department and am surprised that the activity doesn't even cause Tanner to stir. Once I have the phone in my hand, I find the app I always use and open the latest book I'm reading.
This might take a while.
♪♫♪