Chapter 5 – Lorianna
The flat tops of Mount Clef Ridge fall out of view as I turn down a dirt road and veer away from the city proper. Huge oaks line the road like sentinels, thicker and taller than those in the city, with fuller canopies of leaves. As autumn nears, some have turned from their usual deep emerald green to shades of gold.
There’s a hint of magic in the serenity here, a little pocket of paradise that makes me really feel like I’ve taken a journey into another plane of existence. It’s been years since I last drove out this way, but there’s still a sense of familiarity in the dense woods as I creep close to my aunts’ house.
The stress of the last day won’t go away that easily, but just driving away from the chaos of the city, my heart is starting to feel a tiny bit lighter.
It’s been about four years since I last saw Marionne and Samira. They came to LA for my high school graduation, which seems like a lifetime ago after the whirlwind of the past few years. Yet somehow, fate has brought me here now. I don’t know how my aunts will react to my sudden appearance, but I’m excited to reconnect with them and escape the city for a few weeks. A break is long overdue.
The road opens into a lot with a small yellow house at the end. The paint is faded with years, and there are large windows opening into the kitchen and living area, with a few smaller ones on the second floor. Beside the cozy home is an overgrown garden that’s decided the crooked brown picket fence is just an ornament. Untamed green life spills from one side and onto the other, a variety of vegetables and plants reclaiming the land for the wilderness.
A smile creeps onto my face. It looks just as I remember it.
There are no other vehicles parked out front, so I pull onto the flattest section of dirt and grass by the garden. I hope Samira and Marionne are home, but if not, I can take a nap in my car until they get back.
I kill the engine and pop open the door, stepping out into the grass. Several orange-skinned squash and yellow zucchini poke between the prickly leaves and twisting vines near my feet. Just beyond the spokes in the fence, bright red tomatoes droop on long stems, and spires of beans use the fence as their support system to grow up and away from the shaded earth below.
At first, I thought that the garden was wild and out of control, but I can see now that the plants work cohesively to form function in the chaos. The weeds are trimmed back with the help of loving human hands, and the plants do the rest of the work.
A smile tugs at my cheek as I remember my mother and our hands in the earth. She once told me that people try too hard to domesticate plants because they believe they know better than the greenery that has existed for years and years before humans ever thought to control them. Really, the plants should be in charge. It’s such a small detail from my childhood, but it brings me this enormous sense of warmth to remember it now.
I unlatch the gate and move to the other side, by the living room window, where a woman is humming as she tends to a planter filled with herbs. A large straw sun hat is perched on her head, and her long red-blonde hair is tied into a braid that spirals past her lower back.
My throat closes, and I hike my duffel bag higher on my shoulder. All the emotions I’ve tried not to feel until now, all the fears I’ve suppressed, well up inside me. What if they don’t want me here at all?
I take a deep breath to stop my insecurities from spilling all over the place.
“Aunt Marionne? Is that you?”
The woman tilts her sun hat up as she turns to me. At first, she seems startled, as if she was off in her own little world and didn’t hear the revving engine of my Porsche struggling over the dirt road. Then her bright green eyes light up with so much happiness it renders me breathless. Her mouth grows into a huge smile with matching dimples, and she makes a sound of squealing delight.
“My word, do my eyes deceive me? Lorianna?”
My lips quiver. “It’s me. Auntie—”
Marionne throws her arms around me in an enormous hug, squishing me against her. “I’m so happy to see you. It’s been so long, my dear. Where have all the years gone?”
She squeezes me even tighter, which I didn’t think was possible, but I welcome the cocoon of happiness and warmth. I wrap my arms around her. I wasn’t expecting such a warm greeting, and now that she’s holding me, I see just how much I needed this, and I choke back a surprised sob.
“No need for tears, my dear. You’re home now. You’re safe.”
“I can’t believe it’s been years since I last saw you.” I sniffle. Despite the tears, it feels like I’m floating on happiness. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think I’d be this emotional.”
“Never apologize for your feelings, my dear, and never be afraid to show them in our presence. It’s so, so important to be honest about who you are inside.” Marionne pats my back, then steers me toward the house. “Samira will be overjoyed. Come, come, let’s go find her. She’s still inside.”
I nod, not quite sure I understand what she means.
Inside, the living area’s old wooden walls are covered with dried herbs and flowers of every color. The sweet, nutty scent of burning oak wafts from the embers and wispy flames crackling in the fireplace. Opposite the fireplace is a faded green couch and a matching recliner with a wooden coffee table covered in a white, flowery doily that pours off the sides.
Loud music Irish folk music plays from the room over, which just barely masks the sound of chopping vegetables. Marionne follows the sound into a kitchen filled with appliances straight out of the 90s, where another woman is preparing dinner. Her long gray sleeves are rolled up while she works, and her earthy brown palazzos sway with her as she dances and chops to the beat. Though she has identical hair to her sister’s, Samira’s is cut into a shoulder-length bob.
“Samira,” Marionne shouts over the music.
The dancing woman half turns her head in Marionne’s direction. “I told you dinner won’t be ready for a few more hours.”
Marionne laughs and nudges me forward. “Look who’s here early!”
Samira whips around, and her eyes land on me, then her expression brightens in much the same way that Marionne’s did. “You’re here already! What a lovely surprise.”
She hurries to dry her hands on a cloth, and this time, I’m prepared when she pulls me into a hug. Samira smells like oregano and cooking oil, and it reminds me of just how little I’ve had to eat.
I meld into her, absolutely at peace in her embrace. “You were expecting me?”
“Your father told us you would be paying us a visit, and of course, we were thrilled! It’s been a while since we last had company.”
The mention of my dad shocks me out of the peaceful reverie I’ve fallen into since arriving in town. “Dad! How could I forget what happened at the hospital?” I gasp. “We need to call his lawyer. He wants to come home, but the hospital staff are holding him against his will, and he’s feeling much better. I need a phone—”
I turn around too fast, and a flash of dizziness overcomes me. I wobble, then warm hands come to steady me, and I’m blinking up into Samira’s face. She flutters around me like a worried butterfly.
“You’ve been through so much. You must eat. Marionne, love, please get the darling girl some water.”
“But Dad—”
“Listen here. Your father told us all about his sticky situation, and you bet we have everyone who’s anything working on fixing it right up. You’re in no state to worry about a thing, understand? You’re safe here. Nothing will bother you. Let’s get some food in you, then you can go right up to bed and rest for as long as you need.”
I nod slowly, my eyes wide at just how commanding Samira can be.
I pull out a chair at the table, and Marionne sits with me while Samira stays standing. Now that the sisters are side by side, they look almost like twins—same height, same distinct cheekbones and button noses, just like mine. Only their hair is a luscious strawberry blonde with mysterious piercing eyes, whereas mine is more brown than red, and my eyes more blue than green. Samira and Marionne have a youthful energy that makes them seem like they’re closer to my age, and I turned 22 earlier this year.
“That’s my girl.” Samira presses two fingers under my chin and tilts my head up. “Let me get a good look at you.” Her eyes—deep, piercing green, almost as unnatural as Alex’s—bore into mine. For a moment, it seems like shadows cross over her irises. “You look just like your mother did at this age. Doesn’t she?”
“She does,” Marionne echoes. “Takes my breath away. You’ve grown into such an intelligent young lady. And beautiful, of course.”
My cheeks warm at their compliments, but I squirm under Samira’s intense gaze; it’s like she’s staring through me, not at me. “Thank you.” Finally, she releases me. “What… what are you making?”
“My personal garden soup recipe. You’ll love it.” Samira beams, kissing me on the forehead. “You must be starving and exhausted. Don’t worry. There’s plenty here to help you replenish your strength. Oh, what a day you’ve had, love.”
My shoulders curve inward, my whole body tensing. Dad couldn’t possibly have told them everything that’s happened, but it seems they know something; it’s evident enough in their obvious worry for me. I don’t want them to be worried. I just want to spend time with them and forget everything else. Is that realistic, though?
I already know I can’t run from this forever. The vampires are still going to be there, running the Monroe Investment Group, when I get back.
I chew on my lip. “What did Dad tell you, exactly?”
Marionne places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to or aren’t ready, love. We know just how hard breakups can be. We’ve had our fair share of heartless and selfish men in our lives over the years, haven’t we, sister?”
“Aye,” Samira laughs, “though it’s been a fair few years since either of us dated, we learned plenty of lessons about relationships at your age. It never gets easier, you understand? Putting yourself out there, being vulnerable for someone. It’s always a risk, but that’s the invisible cost of finding love.”
I blink up at them both, surprised but relieved. They think this is all about a breakup? I release an anxious breath. I’ve never really had an adult female presence in my life to guide me through situations like this, not except for Olivia, but I would have been embarrassed to go to her upset about a boy.
Luke was more than just a boyfriend to me. My feelings were complicated because of Alex, but I truly cared about Luke. Until now, I’ve tried to avoid truly processing how everything that’s happened affects our relationship.
“I’m… I’m having a hard time with it all,” I admit. “I think I loved him. I really did. I was thinking about spending my life with him and what our relationship would look like after university, but then he went and broke my heart. I’m shattered. I-I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“You’re allowed to feel hurt and sad, even angry.”
“It was so sudden. We’ve always had a complicated relationship, but we cared for each other deeply. At least, I thought we did. But I… now I don’t know what was real and what he was faking. Does it matter?”
“It matters if you want it to, my dear.” Marionne rubs my shoulder gently. “It’s wise to take a step back, as you have, and find a place where you can clear your mind and think over your options. You wouldn’t want to make any decisions you’ll regret. Reflect on what’s transpired and how they’ve changed you, and use what you discover about yourself to determine what’s important to you. Only you can decide if it will be more comforting to understand what was real or if you are better off cherishing the time you had and letting it all go.”
From the moment I stepped inside, I knew this was a safe, trusting place. I’m so overwhelmed by their love and attention that I can’t keep it in anymore, and everything that’s happened crashes into me all at once. I shake and squeeze my eyes shut as the tears come.
I thought Luke truly understood me as a person; he embraced my quirks and made me feel at home. And I thought he felt the same with me because he told me so much about his life—the places he’s been, some of the hardest jobs he’s had to complete in the military, about what it was like to be an orphan with no one in the world to call family.
But I was wrong.
Marionne’s arm curls over my shoulders, and she brings me into her side. “There, there, it’s all right, let it out.”
I don’t know where to begin. I’m overwhelmed, vulnerable, and scared—I don’t know what’s next for me and my dad. Tears thicken and pull down my cheeks. I’m already a blubbering mess, but everything I need to tell my aunts is right on the tip of my tongue. Where do I even begin to explain about my boyfriend breaking into my house, the vampires that my dad’s been working with right under my nose, and, oh, I might have let one drink my blood and formed an erotic connection with him without sounding like an absolute lunatic?
But my aunts offer me their unconditional love, quietly supporting me, and their presence allows calmness to break through the anger and hurt that I’ve kept inside.
Being here now with them, I start to understand why I left Alex behind.
It wasn’t just about space to think or decide if I needed closure with Luke. I needed this, this chance to break down and lose everything so I could start to build myself up again, and I don’t think I could have done this around him.
He would have been there for me, he would have cursed Luke for hurting me, but I didn’t want that to be how a relationship grew between us. It has to be because it’s both what we want when we’re both thinking clearly, not because the world fell apart. If I got with him because Luke broke my heart—again—I’d never know if our feelings were real, and I’d just cause the same problems for myself.
I understand that I have to decide what to do with my pain—no one can do it for me. With my aunts’ guidance, I can find the path to healing. It won’t be an easy path, but it never is.
I sniffle and dry my tears, but now a smile curves onto my face. It’s fragile, threatening to break at any moment, but that’s real. That hope, that happiness.
“Shhh, sweet girl,” Samira whispers, running her hands through my hair. “You’re so brave, so strong, this will not beat you.”
“I’m—I’m fine, now, I think.” I let out a hoarse laugh. “But I needed that. A good cry.”
“It won’t be your last, trust me on that. Here, have a drink.”
I take the glass of water from the table and gulp back the cold liquid with a few gasps of air. Everything inside me still feels like a chaotic ripple, but I finally get myself together. Their warm, protective auras surround me like a blanket, and a heaviness that begs me to sleep overcome me. My eyes burn with the need to close. And I just feel… my guilt evaporate, like it’d never been this horrible knot in my chest at all.
“You look like you could use a rest,” Marionne says. “I’ve prepared your mother’s old room for you. I’ve been cleaning up there all afternoon; we’ve used it for storage these past few years, but there are fresh sheets, and it’s been dusted up all nice for you.”
“And some food. Or you’ll never recover your strength. You look so pale,” Samira adds. She releases me to turn to the counter, where she wedges the lid off of a tin and piles several cookies and some of the carrots she was chopping for dinner. Then she pushes the plate into my hands. “Here, how about this?”
My eyes feel heavy, and I yawn. “I didn’t want to come here and pass out, but maybe some rest would be a good idea. Yes, I think I could use some sleep.”
I’m not sure I could eat very much right now, even if my stomach is demanding sustenance. But I smile anyway and put one of the carrots in my mouth, crunching on it slowly. Samira gives a satisfied nod, then kisses my forehead.
“Now, come along dear,” Marionne says, her voice taking on a singsong quality as she leaves the kitchen.
I follow her to the stairs around the corner, which creak under her light steps. I never knew that my mom had lived in this house. By the time we’re upstairs, I’ve finished the plate of carrots, and I’m working on a cookie. Now that I’m somewhere safe and comfortable, fatigue is starting to set in. I’m already stuffing a second cookie in my mouth when Marionne swings open the door at the top of the steps.
I peek through the threshold into a room with wood grain floors and a sloped ceiling. By the large window on the other side is a small bed with fresh blue sheets and a matching blanket. On one wall, there’s a bookshelf with various thick tomes and knick-knacks, but most of the room is filled with boxes of old stuff.
All over the room, the walls are painted with a forest against a sunrise, with pink and gold light illuminating the needles of pines and wide oak leaves. The illustration closest to the door catches my eye; it’s as if there’s an energy drawing me forward. It’s not necessarily a conscious action, but something I feel like I need to do.
Between the trees, there’s a woman who seems oddly familiar. Long, honey-brown hair flows around her in waves, as if every strand is caught in a cyclone, and they fan around her and catch the light in a stunning array of color. Her face is a lot like mine, with high cheekbones and a small nose, but her eyes, the blue-green of the deep ocean, are brighter than I feel.
I point at the painting and look over my shoulder at Marionne. “Hey, the painting looks a lot like me. Who painted it?”
Marionne comes closer, nodding appreciatively. “Oh, isn’t that the most curious thing? Carmen must have painted this many years ago before she moved out. Those eyes…”
“Before she moved out? You mean before I was born?”
“Hmm, yes. I’d forgotten it was up here. We don’t come into this room often, you understand.”
I trace the intricate detailing that went into the strands of hair. From the texture of my clothes and the trees around me, every painted stroke is exquisite, almost lifelike. I have no memories of my mother painting, and there isn’t a single painting in our house made by her. Was it a hobby she gave up after she married my father and had me? I can’t fathom why someone so skilled could make that kind of sacrifice.
“I didn’t know she was an artist.”
“Carmen was many things. She had bountiful creative energy and so much positivity, living every day with such powerful energy. She could have been such an incredible force of good in the world if she hadn’t been taken from us so soon.” Marionne sniffles. Her eyes are damp, but even while she’s on the verge of tears, her lips are spread into a bright smile.
After seeing the painting, I feel it too—that awed, glowing feeling in the center of my being. There’s something here. A sign, almost. Like my mother knew long before I was born that I’d come into this room in need of a helping hand, and she wanted me to know that she’s watching over me. She’s here with me, even when she can’t be.
A sense of lightness radiates through me, and there’s comfort in everything I’ve found in this house with my aunts and in all the remnants of the mother I never knew but wish I did. There’s sadness, too, for everything I lost and what could have been, but also so much possibility. Here, with my aunts, I can learn everything about her that she never could have taught me.
My eyes droop. Peacefulness diffuses from every corner of this room, and my bones feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. I’ve never needed to collapse into a warm, comforting bed and just sleep so badly.
Marionne lets out a rattled sigh. “You get some rest now, dear. We’ll talk later, you understand? There’s so much to catch up on, but no rush at all.”
There’s a soft click when she closes the door behind her. My shoulders relax when she’s gone, and I finally give in and collapse onto the bed. It’s soft like a dream and smells like soap, and the veil of sleep already threatens to pull me under.
But I can’t stop thinking about my mother. I’m grateful to see my aunts again and for their warm welcome into their home, but coming here has made me see all over again just how little I know about her and who she was or what she was like. How could she have painted a perfect picture of me before she knew what I looked like?
Painted beneath the windowsill by the bed are the iridescent blue-black feathers of a raven with its wings spread open. Sleepily, I reach out for the bird that once watched over my mother every night. Is that why she painted it here?
I sink deeper into the mattress, and my hand falls into my pocket where I’ve kept the pieces of my mother’s gold and ruby necklace. I accidentally broke it in my rush out of the house; when I was packing my clothes, the chain snagged on the dresser handle, and the point where it snapped unraveled most of the pieces that used to be fashioned together into the shape of flower petals.
I long ago accepted that I would never truly know her, but my dad? He was my everything, my world. Without my mom in the picture, we became so close. Even as the incredibly busy man he was, he always made time for Sunday outings and movie nights and gave me space to be a child, then a teenager, then a woman, supporting me along the way.
Now, he’s a complete mystery. A stranger, just like my mom.
Tears stain my cheeks and dampen the pillows, but I keep my face buried. I thought Dad would help me understand what Alex couldn’t, but I was wrong. I’m just more confused.
I wish Alex was with me now, his strong arms wrapped around me. Without question, he would pull me close and whisper in my ear that everything would be okay. I can almost hear his voice now, the gentleness of him. The tender way he would rub my back and pull my hair aside to make me feel safe and help me calm down. Then, when my tears dried, he would help me find all the answers I need to make sense of my new reality.
But isn’t Alex a stranger now, too?
That’s half the reason I left.
I want him, but I don’t know who he is anymore.
I don’t know who I am anymore.
There’s something broken inside me. The pain is so sharp and fierce that I feel like I’m drowning in loneliness. I’d even settle for having Luke beside me just to make it go away. If he was here right now, I’d forgive him for everything he put me through just to hear him tell me that I will make it through this and that he will be with me the entire way.
Did he intend for our relationship to end this way? I’m desperate to know what he was thinking, what he was really after.
Will I ever see him again, or will I always be left to wonder?
Everyone in my life has revealed that they’re not who I thought they were, and the only one who hasn’t changed is me. I need them, but I’m all on my own, without a phone to tell them what I’m thinking.