39. Thirty Six
Thirty Six
Eden
Icannot get my eyes to rise to Veda, and I cannot pry my fingers off of Cecil.
If it bothers him that I’ve got his wrists in a death grip, adhering his hands to my cheeks, he doesn’t show it.
Instead, the pads of his thumbs continue a soothing motion over my face, even as the rest of him tenses with trepidation.
“Imogen was a friend of mine. My best friend.”
Imogen… The photo on Veda’s wall. That was my mother?
Acid burns the back of my tongue, and I have to stave off the urge to vomit.
“She’s the one who introduced me to all this. My family was extremely God fearing, so I was, too. But one day, when we were teenagers, she started talking about Fates.”
There’s a fondness in her voice that has me peering at her. The corners of her lips twitch, hiding a secret smile.
“I looked at her the same way you two are looking at me. I understand how it sounds, but in all my years, it’s the one thing I’ve held onto. My one truth.”
Cecil pulls away from me, and I hesitate to allow it. Once he stands, he stays at my side, and the weight of his palm lands between my shoulder blades. It’s the one thing that keeps me from crumbling.
“So your friend that lived here…” Cecil trails off, giving Veda the opportunity to confirm what I’ve already realized.
“Eden’s mother, yes.”
I become too aware of my surroundings. Did my mother sit in this chair? Did she eat at this table? Did she cry here? Dance here?
A conversation from that first day meeting Veda flutters at the back of my mind like wings against a window pane.
“Your eyes… they’re very unusual.”
“Did you get them from one of your parents?”
My lips part on a silent gasp.
“You knew,” I accuse. Tears well, and I’m unsure if they’re stemming from fury or devastation. Perhaps both.
The pity that stares back at me is almost as insulting as the deception.
“I wasn’t certain, but yes. I wondered from the first time I laid eyes on you. The resemblance is undeniable.” There’s a hint of regret in the slowness of her speech, but it isn’t enough. Nothing she says could reverse the ache behind my ribs.
Cecil has gone eerily silent, his gaze fixed out the window. It’s only a matter of time before he explodes. A part of me hopes that he will, so I don’t have to.
“This was her journal,” Veda continues, motioning to the faded leather that still lies before me. There’s a quiver in her hand. “She always intended for it to go to you.”
She might as well have laid in front of me. A stack of papers, holding the subject of every dream and nightmare I’ve ever had. It's proof that my mother was a real woman, not a phantom from my past. She was a daughter, a friend, a lover.
And I killed her.
The thought steals my breath. Guilt wraps a noose around my heart and throws itself into deep waters, sinking down, down, down.
Pulling my hands from the table, I tuck them beneath my thighs.
“She doesn’t want it,” Cecil says with finality, keeping his back to the two of us.
There’s a flash of anger in Veda’s eyes, but she blinks and it’s gone. “She doesn’t know what she wants.”
It’s true. I don’t know what I want. No one, in all my life, has ever asked me what I want.
“Eden,” Veda says. A tan hand reaches out, palm up. A peace offering. “I need you to know that your mother Saw all of it. She knew. Her demise was… It was all part of the plan. It had nothing to do with you. I swear it.”
The words don’t register right away; all I can do is stare back at her. She can’t possibly be suggesting what I think she is.
Cecil is as silent as I am, his head bowed.
Veda flips the journal's cover open, exposing the first page. I attempt to avert my gaze, but curiosity wins.
Written in a delicate scroll is the first form of communication I have ever had with my mother.
My dove,
Brave the Storm. Put faith in the Stars.
Love,
Mom
Paralyzed with emotions I cannot begin to name, I’m stuck rereading the eleven words.
Veda’s hand disappears for a moment, and when it comes back into vision, she has it closed into a fist. Slowly, she unfurls it, revealing a pool of golden chain.
The urge to touch it has me reaching before I can think twice.
“What is it?” Cecil asks, inching forward to get a closer look.
The metal is cool against my fingertips, and I hook my index finger beneath it.
It’s a necklace. With it dangling from my finger, a small charm hangs, just as golden as the rest of it. A bird, wings spread in flight, sways in the air. The sunlight beaming through the window catches it, giving the illusion that it’s illuminated from within.
“I thought you might like it. She never took it off.”
There’s a burning in my chest, and I realize I’ve stopped breathing altogether. The edges of my vision have grown hazy, and it’s only remedied by a greedy intake of breath.
Cecil’s eyes are fixed on me, as if he can read my mind. My thoughts are so jumbled that I’m not even able to decipher them myself.
There’s two streams of consciousness at war within me. One version is drowning in the grief, and the betrayal, and the guilt. The other is treading water, swimming to the edge where the memories of my mother lie on the shore. And Veda’s there, holding a life jacket.
For the first time in my life, I know who my mother was, and I almost wish I didn’t.
Papa was right. I am selfish.
“I think this is enough for one day.” Cecil’s voice is gruff, and even though he phrases it like a suggestion, it’s a command. He stacks the books, scooping them into his arms.
Veda looks chagrined, resting her forehead in her palm.
“Just…” She deflates, dropping her clasped hands to the table with a thud. “Read the journal. Read the books. I swear, it will help.”
I nod dumbly, pushing myself to stand on numb limbs. Cecil’s free hand closes around my upper arm, steering me towards the door.
“I would thank you, but I’m not sure you deserve it,” Cecil grumbles over his shoulder.
The scoot of a chair sounds, and then Veda is rushing to get in front of us. She touches her fingertips to my arm, and I reflexively jerk back to break the contact. Hurt flashes in her eyes, but she doesn’t touch me again.
“Your mother never knew happiness until she embraced her Gift. It’s in your soul, Eden—”
“That’s enough.”
“Listen!” Veda snaps, putting up a hand. “It’s not Evil, or Darkness, it just is. It’s you. The sooner you stop smothering yourself, the sooner you’ll breathe freely.”
How could I ever embrace something that only serves to harm others? How could that be anything but Evil?
She turns her attention to the man at my side.
“Eden wouldn’t let anything happen to you, so I expect you to return the favor.” Her eyes travel down, where his fingers have laced with mine. When did that happen? “Though I suspect that won’t be a problem.”
There’s a look she gives him, and he merely clenches his jaw in return.
Tugging me towards the door, we leave without a backwards glance.